


got a little competition now

by midwestwind



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Romance, brooklyn 99 au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 10:19:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7504528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midwestwind/pseuds/midwestwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Let me introduce you to one Mr. Arthur King,” she announces to the precinct at large with a sweeping gesture towards the holding cells. The work being done doesn’t stop for her, most people uninterested in or used to these sorts of outbursts from the group of detectives on the third floor. “Will Scarlet’s cocaine supplier. That makes two, count ‘em two, more arrests for me!”</p>
<p>(a brooklyn nine-nine au.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	got a little competition now

**Author's Note:**

> so, this is sort of an entry for cs au week day 1, but it's late. regardless, i have been in a terrible, awful slump lately. i wanted to try and write something short and not too plot heavy to help myself. i hope you guys like it!

Emma resists the temptation to bash her head - or, more temptingly, the man across from her’s - repeatedly against the metal table of the interrogation room. He’s being particularly coy, all smirks and lofty words, as if she hadn’t just caught him with a metric shit ton of cocaine. It’s her fault, really, she knows her exhaustion and frustration is radiating off of her in waves. It’s easy for him to read that this is important for her. She resists the urge to check the time.

 

“Listen,” she sighs, sure she’s repeating herself even as she says the words. “The sooner you give me your supplier, the easier this all gets for you.”

 

“You mean for you,” he smirks. Emma resists the urge to growl at him, her fingers twitching where the rest against the cool metal. He leans forward, steepling his slim fingers under his sharp chin, and Emma can tell she’s being mocked before he opens his smarmy, british mouth. “Listen, lass, I don’t know what you’re talking about, alright? Those drugs aren’t even mine, someone must’ve slipped ‘em in me bag on the bus. Public transport, you know.”

 

He shakes his head like it’s all some grave misunderstanding and Emma balls her hands into fists, stuffing one of them in the pocket of her leather jacket and reaching for the files in front of her with the other. She loosens her fingers to flip the file labeled  _ Scarlet, Will _ open. It’s flimsy, a few arrest records and info pulled from the system when she ran his prints. There’s one thing though, one last card Emma was saving. A name that came up repeatedly, a woman who picked him up from holding and paid his bail after each petty theft charge. He’d graduated to drugs suddenly, it seemed, never having had a record for it before.

 

“Okay, sure,” Emma shrugs, relaxing her features and trying to convey that she believes him. “The drugs weren’t yours, I’ll bite. Do you think they were  _ hers _ then?” She flips the file around, running her fingernail over the name. “Maybe I should have someone pick up this Ana, huh? She could have some answers.”

 

Scarlet has gone tense and Emma has to stop herself from smirking. She’s already adding this tally to her score. It doesn’t take much more goading to get the dealer’s name, along with where she can find him. She checks the time, an hour left to find the perp and get him to processing, and runs out the door.

 

The desk across from hers is empty as she leaves.

 

The dealer is waiting on the corner for Scarlet when Emma pulls up, her yellow Bug hardly gives off “police vehicle” vibes, and he buys her as a junkie as she shakes her hands out, looks anywhere but at his face. Once he hands her the small bag, Emma grasps his wrist, twisting it behind his back and pushing him against the building behind him. She reads him his rights on the way back to her car and resists the urge to speed back to the station.

 

Killian is sitting in his desk, facing the front of the station, when she drags the dealer through the door. She’s slightly out of breath, but tries for nonchalant as she ushers him into the holding cell, aware of Killian’s eyes on her the whole way.

 

Once he’s locked into the cell, Emma turns towards the station with a broad grin, unable to control herself. Sergeant Nolan is leaning against his desk, arms crossed and an amused glint in his eye. Ruby is snickering into her palm from her own seat, an unamused perp handcuffed in the seat next to her desk. Killian’s jaw has gone slack and his eyes are wide and defeated. Emma ignores the sudden want to dance in place.

 

“Let me introduce you to one Mr. Arthur King,” she announces to the precinct at large with a sweeping gesture towards the holding cells. The work being done doesn’t stop for her, most people uninterested in or used to these sorts of outbursts from the group of detectives on the third floor. “Will Scarlet’s cocaine supplier. That makes two, count ‘em  _ two _ , more arrests for me!”

 

She’s loud enough for everyone to hear, but the words are directed specifically at Killian. Ruby claps for her from her desk, her perp now sinking down in his seat in annoyance. Emma can’t help herself, she takes a small bow. Another pair of hands joins the applause and Emma looks up, expecting it to be David finally joining in on their fun. Instead, the slow, off-beat clapping is coming from Killian. If she had thought about it, she would have realized it wasn’t the sound of skin against skin, but the sound of his good hand slapping against the opposite forearm, the muffled sound of skin against leather. Emma frowns. 

 

He’s never this gracious of a loser.

 

“Very impressive,” he nods. “I can see you really put in some good detective work for this, I’m glad for you.”

 

Emma’s brow pinches in confusion. There are exactly two minutes to midnight, at which time her and Killian’s bet officially ends and she will be the new owner of his stupid boat. His “Sex Boat”, as Smee had referred to it, making Emma scrunch her nose up in disgust. First order of business, throw any and all furniture inside of said boat into the ocean.

 

“You’re very calm about losing the love of your life,” Emma broaches carefully, suddenly aware of the almost silent ticking from the clock above the windows. She’s talking about the boat, of course, not the other side to their bet, the part he would have won. Still, his eyebrows raise in surprise at her use of the phrase. Killian’s desk is obsessively neat, everything placed in perfect ninety degree angles. He places his arms in front of his keyboard and pushes himself upwards with his forearms.

 

“Officer Smee,” he calls. “Bring in the boys, won’t you?”

 

Smee comes in, a wide and unattractively smug grin on his face. Trailing behind him are six young men, no older than twenty, all cuffed. Another officer brings up the rear as they are shuffled through the bullpen, past Killian and Emma, into the holding cells. Emma feels her jaw drop.

 

“Remember that bank robbery case I was working on?” Killian asks, grinning as he crosses the room towards the rolling white board with their scores on it. He picks up the eraser and wipes away the old numbers beneath their names. They’d been tied. “Turns out, it was  _ six _ men all working together, not just one. They only sent one man in through the front, therefore no witnesses ever realized there were more working on the safe.”

 

He adds two to Emma’s score, before adding six to his own.

 

Emma’s shoulders slump and exhaustion hits her in a wave. They’d both gotten in early and used overtime to try and win this stupid bet. And, of course, it’s a  _ stupid _ bet! It was stupid to begin with, but now that she’s lost? It’s easily the stupidest thing she’s ever done. And she used to steal from convenience stores.

 

Killian flicks his wrist up, looking down at the watch wrapped around it, and begins to count down. Emma groans out a long, petulant, “ _ Nooooo. _ ”

 

If she could go back in time, Emma would go back exactly one year and twelve hours ago and punch herself in the face. She can still hear the conversation in her head.

 

_ “What would be the worst thing in the world for you, Emma?” Ruby had asked, the grin on her face evident in her voice even as Emma pulled a face at Killian. _

 

_ She had replied, easily, “Being one of those girls on that boat.” _

 

She’d been so cocky. She is the better detective, she  _ knows  _ that. Hell, the whole damn bullpen knows it. Losing had seemed impossible. She could scream, Killian hadn’t won because he was better than her in any particular detective skills. It’d been luck - pure, dumb, bullshit luck!

 

Killian laughs, when she says at much, stopping his countdown thirty seconds from midnight. “Don’t hate the player, Swan-”

 

Emma takes a menacing step forward, the heels of her boots suddenly intolerably painful on her feet, but Killian cuts himself off as he resumes his countdown from five. At midnight, Emma expects more fanfare than there is, honestly. Smee hits play on a boombox and  _ We Are The Champions _ plays loudly, earning annoyed attention from the other workers, and Killian takes a bow in each direction. Emma rolls her eyes at the song choice. The civilian administrator, Mary Margaret, offers her a sympathetic look.

 

Killian stops to step up to Emma, taking her hand gently between his own, both soft skin and leather covered prosthetic. His skin is warm in contrast to the cool metal of his rings. She glares at him.

 

“Emma Swan, will you do me the honor of joining me on my ship for dinner?” Emma opens her mouth to respond, but Killian raises his eyebrow and adds, “You have to say yes.”

 

Emma groans. “Yes.”

 

Killian drops her hand, a broad grin taking over his features as he spins back to the rest of the precinct. “She said yes!”

 

A few amused officers do stop and applaud, the music resuming from the boombox. Ruby has her hands above her head, clapping loud enough for all of them. David rolls his eyes and calls out, “Alright, get back to work.”

 

Killian tosses a wink at Emma as she flops down into her desk chair. He returns to his own seat and begins working on the paperwork for the case. Emma tries not to think about his warm hands wrapped around hers, the stupid bet, or her suddenly sour mood.

 

When she finishes up her own paperwork, Emma begins to gather her things. It’s into the early morning hours, but she took the following day off in anticipation of the end of the bet. Killian suddenly begins pulling on his own jacket and closing up files.

 

“Swan,” he calls, waving her down at the elevator. Emma halts, too tired to keep up her annoyance at him. “How about I cash in that date now, hm?”

 

Emma frowns. “It’s two in the morning.”

 

“Yes, but I haven’t eaten and I’m sure neither have you,” he points out. In response, Emma’s stomach growls. She glares down at it as Killian chuckles and the elevator doors slide shut. “I know a pretty good twenty-four hour pizza place.”

 

The thought makes her mouth water and Emma can’t bring herself to say no.

 

They pick up a pizza with an insane amount of toppings and Killian hails a cab to take them to the docks. The scent of salt in the air immediately permeates Emma’s senses as the breeze blows over them. It’s chilly, cold this close to the sea even in the warm months, and she zips her coat up.

 

Killian holds out his prosthetic to her, his other hand balancing the greasy pizza box, and helps her onto the deck of his boat. He hands her the box, which feels gratifyingly warm in her cold hands, and disappears below deck. Emma doesn’t know if she’s meant to follow him or not, is just about to try and call down, when he reappears with a couple blankets draped over his arm.

 

They set them out on the deck, sitting on one and draping the other over their legs for warmth. They’re not far enough from the light pollution of the city that they can see much of anything, but Emma still gazes up towards the sky as they eat in companionable silence.

 

She tries to ignore it, she really does, but it’s late and her stomach is almost uncomfortably full now which apparently renders her filter useless.

 

“At the risk of bringing further torment on myself,” she starts. “This isn’t really much of a date, at least not one that I expected. This isn’t much different than any other time we get dinner.”

 

Killian shrugs, dropping his half eaten slice in the nearly empty box and moving it off the blankets. Emma watches him, eyebrows raising as he slides just a touch closer to her, a few inches further into her space.

 

“When you decide to go on a date with me, Swan,” he says, like it’s inevitable. The grass is green, Killian Jones’ eyes are the color of the sea, Emma Swan will eventually go out with him. “It won’t be because of some bet. It will be because you want me.”

 

He stays in her space a moment longer before falling back onto his side of the blankets with a grin. The sudden space between them startles her. Emma wonders if he isn’t right to think it’s inevitable.


End file.
